


More debris than you can sort through in one go

by mrs_laugh_track



Category: Pro Wrestling Guerrilla, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Kayfabe Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13382739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_laugh_track/pseuds/mrs_laugh_track
Summary: It's been the two of them since the goddamn beginning. Somehow it ended up here.Most of this is directly post BOLA 2017





	More debris than you can sort through in one go

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Chaos and Clothes by Jason Isbell. 
> 
> Beta by the incomparable Veroniques

_somewhere in Kentucky, somewhere in 2002_

“Show me that again?” Chuck is seventeen and training or teaching or whatever makes him feel like an old man. He doesn’t hate it. Goddamn if the way Ricochet looks at him when he shows him the secret to a great arm drag doesn't make him feel smart as shit.

Chuck likes feeling smart. 

_on the road between Illinois and home, September 30th 2006_

He likes Ricochet if he’s being honest. Maybe _like_ likes him. Which sounds so high school, but what the fuck are adults supposed to call it then? What about brand new IWA Mid-South Heavyweight champions, what do they call it?

Chuck Taylor, the brand new IWA Mid-South Heavyweight champion, looks over at the passenger seat where Ricochet is holding his belt. Maybe good champions aren’t supposed to let other people hold their belts, but he’s not sure. He’ll figure it out as he keeps winning them.

Ricochet is… Not cute. He’s not. He’s scrawny and weird looking. Chuck’s probably only into him because he’s good at wrestling. And okay maybe if he really thought about it, Ricochet's also got a nice smile. 

People tell Chuck he’s good at wrestling and has a nice smile too though. That doesn’t mean shit. 

Ricochet tried to save him tonight. He did a pretty awful job, but he tried. Just one of those guys was easily twice Ricochet’s size and there were three of them. 

He tries not to think about nice smiles or about how any day now Ricochet is going to be way better than he is. If he weren’t a total pussy he’d pull over the car and kiss him.

_Reseda California, American Legion Post 308, September 3rd 2017_

Chuck’s not out on commentary for the final match. Not that he's all that tired from heroically stopping Trevor Lee from getting everybody TNA contracts, which actually, now that he thinks about it, doesn’t really seem all that heroic. It’s just that talking over the match to decide who gets to be the first to punch his championship defense dance card didn’t feel right somehow. His championship. This whole weekend was about him. All these guys, fighting just to get a shot at him. 

Ricochet has been kind of a dick lately, but as he watches the match Chuck still catches himself kind of rooting for him. Obviously it’s also that he doesn’t wanna get thrown into space by Jeff Cobb or slammed into the center of the earth by Keith Lee, but it’s also about Ricochet. How many years has it been since they wrestled each other one on one? 

If Ricochet wins this then their first match in who knows how long will be because Chuck has something Ricochet doesn’t. It’s been a long time since that’s been a match was even remotely possible. That kind of rules. Also, as hard as it is to admit, Chuck has kind of missed being in the ring with him. 

Then, there he is. Ladies and Gentlemen, the first ever two time Battle of Los Angeles winner, Ricochet. Nobody even smashes his trophy this time. Chuck, who is PWG champion after all, can afford to feel a little happy for him.

“Ricochet is the two time champion, and the last thing I need to do, to check off that bucket list, is to get that title off Chuckie T’s skinny-fat waist.” 

Oh right. In all the gee look at us all grown up fondness Chuck had let creep up on him he’d forgotten the most important thing, which is that Ricochet really fucking sucks. He also apparently doesn’t know what a bucket list is unless he’s become actually terminally full of himself at some point. The crowd, of course, ignores that in favor of chanting “skinny-fat.” Cool. 

He walks up to Ricochet belt in hand. Holds it up.

Ricochet laughs at him. “Look it’s decrepit. It’s all broken and shit.”

Who says that about a title they’re trying to win? Is Chuck supposed to feel bad? Is he supposed to go ‘oh no he saw my busted up belt I’ve gotta run away now’? 

Chuck nods, “It is.” 

“Chuckie T you’ve been with me since the goddamn beginning. You taught me a lot actually. But I’ve surpassed you. I surpassed you to heights you will never reach and that,” he points at Chuck’s belt, his beautiful green shitty decrepit belt, “is just one more thing I’m gonna check off my list before I head on to bigger and better places.”

Ricochet gently bumps his trophy on the top of Chuck’s head. In another situation maybe it might seem fond. In another situation it might just look ridiculous for someone that much shorter than him to put something on his head. It’s not ridiculous and it’s not fond. 

Chuck’s never made it past the first round of BOLA. Hasn’t even competed in it since 2014. But no matter what happens, he will always have been PWG Champion before Ricochet. There is nothing anyone can do to take that away from him.

The crowd is waiting for him to say something. What is there even to say.

“Tonight’s not about me, so I’ll make this real quick. Ricochet you want a title match? You got it buddy. Whenever, wherever, right back here in Reseda. But tonight’s not about me. Tonight’s about Jeff Cobb. Tonight’s about Keith Lee.”

That felt good. It felt like what a champion would do. Yeah probably if he had imagined the moment nobody would be yelling skinny-fat at him, but you can’t have everything.

He slips out of the ring and lets the big guys have their moment.

He hangs around for a while. He’s still there long after all the handshakes and pictures and selling not quite as many shirts as he would have liked is over. 

He finally makes himself leave mostly because he catches himself not wanting to leave. If he doesn’t want to leave, it’s because he thinks this will be the last show where he ends the night as champion.

“Hey!”

Why the fuck is Ricochet yelling at him? Hasn’t he said enough shit for one night? Can’t Chuck just have his cool guy moment for once, and then hang around for hours after that cool guy moment without anybody bugging him. 

“I’m not Zack Sabre Jr. okay.”

“Was someone accusing you of that? That’d be real weird.” 

Ricochet rolls his eyes like Chuck is the one who said something dumb. “I know you man. I know you.”

Hey are they seriously doing this? Guy has never met a cliche he didn’t love.

Chuck laughs. “Is this the part where I say that I taught you everything you know, but not everything I know.”

“Zack thought you were a clown.” 

Chuck hates that hearing that still stings. He kicked Zack’s ass and laughed in his face. It still stings. There’s no rope breaks in real life. Shit. That’s so good. He should be a poet. Ricochet’s still talking.

“I know you’re not some clown. I’m gonna take you so seriously. What are you going to do with that?”

Wow. Ricochet really does suck. He just sucks so bad. And if this is him taking Chuck seriously he definitely needs to work on it.

Chuck grins as wide as he possibly can. He knows it can be kind of unnerving sometimes. Good.

“Hey you know another thing that’s different between you and Zack,” Chuck quickly searches for a comeback, hoping he won’t regret starting that sentence without knowing how it ends, “Zack has friends.” Fucking nailed it.

Ricochet furrows his eyebrows a little, “you know I’m like a tag team champion right now? Not here. Obviously. But... I am.” He genuinely seems a little hurt by the idea that Chuck wouldn’t know. 

Chuck is mad that his comeback sucked, he’s mad that Ricochet expects him to keep track of all his accomplishments, and most of all he’s mad that Ricochet has suddenly picked this moment to seem like a human being again. 

“Listen Chuck, I’m sorry you hate me or whatever. Sorry about all your high drama low self-esteem shit, I really am, but you have to know you can’t win this right?” 

He’s never hated Ricochet. Maybe he hates him right now, but he’s never hated him before.

_“Did you see that?” A grin breaking over his shitty little face, “a double moonsault.” Chuck wonders what happens if he keeps ignoring the knot in his stomach. Maybe it’s gonna kill him one day._

He’s pretty sure he’s never hated Ricochet.

_“Hey your old student won Best of Super Juniors huh?” It’s said like a joke. It’s always a joke. It’s fine. Chuck makes the joke himself all the time anyway. Why shouldn’t other people expect him to laugh about it with them. Chuck Taylor trained Ricochet. Ha ha. Unbelievable._

He’s never hated Ricochet for more than just a minute. 

Maybe he knows he can’t win this, maybe he doesn’t. But he also knows that Ricochet isn’t any better than him. Ricochet’s stupid ugly titty tattoo is telling him to “be fearless”. What does Ricochet’s fucking tit know?

Chuck kisses him. Hard.

Ricochet takes a step back. He doesn’t look mad or freaked out. Just confused. Maybe even a little sad. “You’re finally doing this now? After all this time? Dude.”

Fuck his finally. Fuck his puppy dog face. Like he’s just been sitting around for years waiting to get kissed. Bullshit. Chuck kisses him again.

It’s a good kiss. It’s a really, really good kiss. Chuck’s not sure exactly what point he was trying to make, but he thinks it’s probably working. He crowds Ricochet up against the building. Chuck’s belt is still over his shoulder and it’s probably biting into Ricochet. Good. 

They kiss maybe longer than it takes to make any kind of point. He tries to remember that Ricochet wasn’t always this hot. It doesn’t help. Chuck is an idiot, has always been an idiot, he’d wanted this way before Ricochet got hot. 

They’re at a point where maybe this is about to go from something that is embarrassing for someone to walk around the corner and see to something where he’d have to forfeit his championship on the grounds of a public indecency arrest. Ricochet stops kissing him and leans in real close to his ear. 

“Like I said, Zack didn’t know what he was talking about. You’re not a clown… You’re a joke.”

Always going for that last word. Hurtful sure, but kind of pathetic too. Chuck just raises his belt in Ricochet’s face again. He doesn’t know how better to say it. He’s not a joke. There’s the point. That’s the point. He’s Chuck Taylor. He’s the PWG Champion and he’s the reason Ricochet’s dick is starting to get hard in his ugly tights. 

Later sitting at the airport he thinks maybe it would have been a good intimidation thing to grab Ricochet’s boner right before he walked away. Maybe not though. He hopes the trophy is a bitch to try to travel with.

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote the bulk of this fic there was a secret sad ending because we knew that Chuck lost the belt to Ricochet at ASW, but now when I'm posting it it has a secret happy ending on that sad ending because we know he wins it back at Mystery Vortex.
> 
> Also it doesn't need to be here in these notes but they are my notes so I'm gonna tell you, I was just watching the Highspots year end review with Ricochet and again he starts getting into like how much he wishes he hadn't have had to be a jerk for his BOLA win. And that's the cutest thing to me. 
> 
> He did a real good job at it though.


End file.
